


The Blade

by lusteralliance (orphan_account)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Enjoy..., Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, Reunions, actually sylvain decks felix in the face in the beginning so that isnt really gentle, h lord, here to add more tags! tysm everyone for the rly nice comments i almost cried, i hate that word so badly....im so scared...ghfhhfhf..., just gentle. that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 00:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lusteralliance
Summary: "Years later, a sword that was thought to have belonged to Felix arrived on Sylvain's doorstep."an...expansion on felix n sylvain's other route paired ending...





	The Blade

**Author's Note:**

> just take this and let me die

It wasn't the silver pommel carved with the crest of House Fraldarius that gave it away. Nor was it the handle, wrapped in comfortable navy cloth that suited a tight, rough grip, or the ornamental silver guards that were always carefully polished regardless of if they were bloodied or not, or the sleek, sharp, balanced blade built for speed that could cut through air and bone.

None of that was what gave the sword away. What did was the hasty yet elegant black cloth wrapping, and the tiny note tucked inside, and his unmistakable penmanship, those angled, long lines and barely visible dots and crosses. The work of one who didn't bother to lift up his pen, but was patient enough to wait for the ink to dry completely, for imperfection was a personal insult.

"For you. Don't write back."

Sylvain knew this sword. It had left a nick on his collarbone many years ago, and a long, thin scar on his upper arm, and a tiny mark on his cheek, and another on his ankle. Felix had laughed and told him he'd never give it to him, not on his life, that many years ago, too. But he was rarely ever a man of his word.

Sylvain begged the messenger not to leave, and to wait for just a few more minutes. He wrapped up the blade and slipped the note back inside the folds of black cloth, then pulled on his winter cloak. He sent one of his own messengers to tell Ingrid of his leave, and that House Gautier was now under her care until he returned, then joined Felix's out in the snow.

"Take me to him."

"He told me not to, milord."

"I don't care what he says."

The messenger was wary, but he did as he was told. Sylvain gripped the handle of the sword tight in his hand, and he hugged the whole thing to his chest when a great gust of wind nearly blew them off their feet. Felix would kill him if he got even a single stain on this thing.

It was a gift from his father, from his father's father, and from that man's father, and so on. It wasn't just some ordinary blade. It was a legacy. And now, Felix had given it to him with a snarky note and thought he'd won. Sylvain could just see his puffed out chest and proud grin.

They stopped at a tavern on the farthest edge of the snowfields, and there they ate and drank just enough. When people asked about the sword, Sylvain only responded, "Gift from a friend."

The messenger slowed when the sun started to dip below the mountainous horizon, and Sylvain saw a small shack with a flickering lamp hanging outside it. Sylvain nearly laughed. He paid the messenger a generous amount, and told him what he needed to do.

The messenger smiled at him, then at the coins in his hand, and he trudged off to the shack as Sylvain stood behind a tree by the beaten path. He heard the door creak open, and he saw another figure join the messenger outside, and then the messenger left.

One figure stood under the lamp, arms folded, legs crossed, cold amber eyes averted to the snow under his feet. He swatted impatiently at moths that fluttered too close to his face. Sylvain stepped out, and walked forward.

The man saw him, and he squinted at first. Then, he flinched, and he muttered something under his breath. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and nothing more. He was shivering from the cold, and nothing more.

Sylvain stopped a foot away from him, taking him in in his entirety. Those piercing amber eyes, that thin line of a frown, that sleek navy hair in its high ponytail. He'd looked out for this man since before he could walk. 

Sylvain dropped the sword at his feet, then punched him in the face.

Felix stumbled backwards, gasping as his back hit the wall, and Sylvain wasted no time. He set one hand on the wall, and one on the back of Felix's neck, and kissed him hard.

Felix writhed at first, then stopped fighting after a bit of a struggle. Before his arms could snake around Sylvain's neck, the Margrave pulled himself away and spoke gruffly into Felix's cheek.

"Real funny, Felix. Thinking you could get away with that." Sylvain laughed into the bruise forming on Felix's face. "'Don't write back.' Was that your idea? Did you think of that? That was clever."

Felix glanced at his sword lying in the snow, and the corner of the note poking out of the smooth black cloth.

"You just...live in a hut out here? What do you do? Milk cows? Don't see them around the fields," Sylvain remarked, his words sharp and stinging, his breath warm and soft on Felix's skin. Felix tucked his nose against Sylvain's neck, tugging at his thick cloak. His skin was cold against Sylvain's, and it made the Margrave flinch.

"Are you going to stand around mocking how I live my life or are you going to kiss me again?" he murmured, and Sylvain gave a rough but gentle laugh, and he lowered his head and met Felix's lips with his own again, and Felix sighed deeply into his kiss. The soft cloud of breath that left his lips was enveloped quickly by Sylvain. They stood out in the cold dusk, Felix pressing his abdomen up against Sylvain's and wrapping himself cozily in his old friend's cloak.

"I missed you." Sylvain croaked weakly into Felix's forehead, when they parted for breath. "If you even try running away and pulling another noble last act on me again, I'm coming to find you."

"Heh heh! Idiot." Felix smirked and rested his head on Sylvain's shoulder, stroking his back and linking one of his legs with one of Sylvain's. "You really are dense."

Sylvain grumbled and pulled Felix firmly into his arms, drying his tightly shut eyes with the fur of Felix's hood. Felix gasped softly, and he hugged Sylvain closer as the taller man broke down against him.

"I missed you so much," he rasped, and Felix shook his head and squeezed Sylvain in a tight hug. Sylvain took in a shuddering breath, falling to his knees in the snow, and Felix went down with him.

"I'm sorry…."

"I thought I'd never see you again, Felix…! And I got so scared, and—and lonely, and—"

"Shh...it's okay. I'm here now, Sylvain."

"Please don't go away again...please."

"I won't. I promise."

"...Okay...."

Felix brushed Sylvain's tears away, then took his hand. He stepped over the sword of his father, and his father's father, and he lead Sylvain into the warmth of his little home as the sun went to sleep under the great eastern mountains beyond.

"Let's go inside." 

That night was quiet.

Felix locked the door, and Sylvain sat heavily on the chair by the warm, crackling hearth, and Felix joined him. Sylvain smiled up at him, and Felix smiled down, tracing Sylvain's jaw with the tip of his finger before kissing it.

The fire was their only source of light, but far from their only source of warmth. The two were each other's fires back in their childhood, snuggling up against each other during harsh winter nights. Felix unfastened Sylvain's cloak from his armor and threw it around his own shoulders, kneeling over him on the soft, overstuffed chair, and they kissed again. It had been so long since they've touched.

"You're so cold, Felix," Sylvain breathed into the base of his neck, and Felix shivered when his old friend kissed it softly. "Let me keep you warm tonight."

Felix lowered himself down onto Sylvain's lap, his hands on his shoulders. Sylvain's hands traveled to Felix's waist.

"Just like old times?"

"Yeah."

Felix hesitated, then rested his head on Sylvain's chest. He'd abandoned the Margrave; Sylvain needed his company, just for tonight, if not forever. He untied Felix's hair and let it fall down his shoulders. Felix raised his head just as Sylvain lowered his, and he saw those handsome hazel eyes and that soft, longing smile, and he let his lids close to blackness as Sylvain started to kiss him, deeper, deeper.

Felix started to undo the fastens that trapped Sylvain's body in silver armor. He wanted to feel him, see him, just as they did when they were younger; inexperienced and afraid, but fueled by desire, and daring.

Sylvain helped him discard his chest plate and mail, and his various other guards, and Felix sighed and ran his hands along Sylvain's chest. Under his maroon tunic he felt the strong, muscular build of a warrior, so very enticing, so unlike the boy Felix had kissed and touched all those years ago. Felix was lean, built for speed, and when Sylvain tried to unbutton his vest, he pulled away.

"What's wrong?"

"...I…" Sylvain would never judge. He would never say anything bad to Felix, even if he drank ten times a day and had a beer gut. Sylvain would still find a way to love him. Felix shook his head. "...never mind."

Sylvain undressed him slowly, taking in every inch of him, seeing how he'd grown. He was taller than when he'd left, but still smaller than Sylvain. Felix looked down at his knees hugging Sylvain's hips as Sylvain admired the lithe frame under his black underclothes. 

"I missed your body, Felix," Sylvain murmured, and Felix blushed faintly. "I missed your touch."

"...You don't need to anymore," Felix whispered, and he kissed Sylvain lightly. Sylvain wrapped his arms around Felix to hold him close, to never let him go again.

Sylvain lowered his head when they parted and nodded into Felix's shoulder, and Felix wrapped his arms around Sylvain's neck. Once even, soft breaths became short and harsh, and names were whispered among them, but only theirs.

Hands went right where they should upon each other, and lips were bitten to stifle sighs, and the moths outside the little shack bumped busily against the dying lamp as if their lives depended on it.

"Good?" Sylvain murmured, letting his fingers drift to Felix's leg. The swordsman gripped Sylvain's tunic tighter in his hands.

"Good," he replied softly. In truth, Felix wanted to pull Sylvain's clothes off and just take him, feel his warmth around and inside him, feel that golden heat and that sweet release after Sylvain pushed him over the edge. But he couldn't say it.

It was only when Sylvain slipped his fingers under the waistband of Felix's leggings did he understand that he was not the only one hungering tonight. Sylvain's cloak slipped down from Felix's shoulders to a warm pile of dark furs on Sylvain's knees, brushing the ground from where the two sat in the chair before the hearth.

Sylvain ran his hand down the length of Felix's bare leg, chasing away the sting of the cold with his fingertips. Felix hated how slow be was, and even more how much he wanted him, needed him. More than Sylvain could possibly want or need him, Felix was sure.

He lowered his head so Sylvain couldn't kiss him, and then he looked him in the eyes. His soft hazel gaze held only devotion, and his sly grin was a facade to hide his fear. Fear that this would be their last night together. Felix kissed his forehead.

"Let me have you," he whispered. Sylvain nodded, brushing Felix's long navy hair behind his ears.

"I'll let you have everything, if you come home with me." Felix thought about the money he made as a mercenary, and the peaceful quiet of nights alone on the snowfields. And he thought about the coziness, the homeliness, of the Gautier manor, and Sylvain's arms, and his lips and his eyes and his fingertips and that suffocating smile, that smile that tore his heart into pieces, yet made him feel whole.

"...I will."

Sylvain's eyes glowed, and he kissed him lightly, quickly, like a weightless feather touching upon a pool of water, sealing Felix's promise. And then, it began.

The fire crackling in the hearth was more than enough to drown out their voices that night; Sylvain's smooth talk, and Felix's soft sighs of pleasure in his old friend's arms, one would miss it all if they weren't listening close enough. They were careful around each other, courteous, as if they were two noblemen having tea instead of two noblemen having something other than tea.

Felix glared into the shadows untouched by the fire, trembling as he caught his breath with his arms wrapped tightly around Sylvain's neck. The Margrave tossed his gloves to the floor; the feeling of his warm fingertips, roughened from parchment and from weaponry...this was something else. Something intimate, something Felix was ill prepared for. It was gentle, but so foreign, yet familiar enough for him to yearn for more.

He melted into his old friend's touch, whimpering for more at his gentler strokes. Sylvain treated him well; he made sure to, for he felt that he would be betraying Felix if he didn't. Felix nearly cried out before the Margrave shushed him with a kiss, and what came out instead was a breathy "ungh" as Sylvain felt around inside him, carving out his territory, marking what belonged to him and him only. And Felix let him, trembling on his knees with the hearth warming his back.

There was a growing heat inside him, a stinging desire he couldn't handle, an all-encompassing fire stronger than that of the hearth, and that of the sun. Felix gave Sylvain what he wanted, and Sylvain gave him gentle, careful pleasure in return.

"Let's go to your bed," the Margrave murmured, his lips pressed to the top of Felix's head. Felix shuddered against Sylvain's tunic.

"No, it's cold...nnh...on the rug...." Sylvain took his cloak and tossed it over the small rug before the hearth, then slipped Felix into his arms and lay him down in the warm ripples of his thick cloak. Felix reached up as Sylvain crouched over him, catching his lips and kissing him deeply. To them, it was only tonight. They knew what the future held, but that was one matter. Tonight was another.

Felix needed him, he needed Sylvain so bad, and it was destroying him.

"Let me have you…."

"I told you I'd give you everything."

Felix turned his head towards the fire as he lay flush against Sylvain's cloak, and Sylvain kissed his cheek and neck. The swordsman grabbed a handful of Sylvain's ruddy hair and another of his warm, dark cloak and shivered with anticipation and masked desperation. All these years, alone in bed and alone when he woke, these terrible, lonely years with no one; they all lead up to this, his legs spread with Sylvain crouching over him, sweat glistening on their foreheads, a silence punctuated by panting cloaking them in comfort.

"Sylvain," Felix whispered.

"Give me your sentimental speech after we're done." And then, another kiss, an exchange of last breaths before a dive.

Felix missed this. He missed him, Sylvain's hands on his hips, his gentle encouragement as Felix took him in his entirety, his sweet, hot heat. It had only been too long since he'd felt Sylvain's skin against his, and oh, it was everything and more.

His mind was fuzzy from the warmth of the hearth and the stretch and pull of his muscles as they made way for Sylvain inside him. Felix tried to keep a brave face, but soon, the pain and pleasure were starting to overwhelm him. He whined and gasped with no room left inside him for shame; it was only him and Sylvain for many miles, after all. Who but the wind was here to listen?

He felt Sylvain's ragged breaths on his chin, and Felix turned his face and brushed his lips against the Margrave's. Sylvain opened his mouth to kiss him deeper, but Felix was too focused on keeping himself together that he couldn't return the gesture. He was no longer his own person, but an attachment, an extension of Sylvain.

Before long, Felix was mewling and whimpering like a neglected pup, and Sylvain was most certainly neglecting him. The swordsman wrapped his arms around Sylvain's neck, pleading under his breath, a deep ache forming where Sylvain had been taking his sweet time inside him. 

Sylvain whispered back softly into Felix's ear. His body once bore a patient and steady tempo, to ease Felix into a delicious, enticingly slow rhythm. But now, his pace was just as brash and desperate as his old friend, and he knew that neither he nor Felix could last much longer.

"Hold my hand," Sylvain breathed, and Felix found his hand and clung to it, to anchor the both of them as the fire blazed at its height in the hearth, and in them.

That was the last coherent sentence that was spoken for quite some time. The silent, snowy night was broken by a soft cry that trickled out of a lonesome shack on the edge of the snowfields, and then there was another, gruffer one, but with the same vulnerability that the first one held.

Felix lay shivering on his side, his eyes half open as he panted through his nose. He stared blankly into the fire, his mind buzzing and his limbs numb in the aftermath. He heard armor being hastily thrown to the ground, and then a soft grunt, and then he felt Sylvain's arms around his waist and his face brushing against the nape of Felix's neck.

"...Let's go home," he murmured, his breaths shallow but warm on Felix's skin. Felix closed his eyes, relaxing in his embrace. Every part of him was worn, like brittle stone buffeted by relentless winds. But there was only warmth, surrounding and filling him. Sylvain was only warmth, only comfort, only everything.

"Tomorrow," Felix whispered, turning wearily and burying himself against Sylvain's chest. Sylvain kissed his forehead and held him close, tugging his heavy cloak out from under them and draping it over their tangled legs.

The fire crackled calmingly behind them, and Sylvain closed his eyes as he rested his head on the rug underneath them. The soft rhythm of Felix's breaths, and the blooms of warmth they left upon Sylvain's heart, filled him with a peace he thought he'd never feel again.

"Sylvain," Felix mumbled into his chest.

"Oh, right. Your sentimental speech...go on, I'm listening." Sylvain chuckled and ran his fingers through Felix's hair, slowly, expectantly. Felix's grip tightened on Sylvain's tunic, and then his hand reached up to his head and took Sylvain's.

"...I missed you, too."

Sylvain held his breath, and Felix squeezed his hand where he held it against his face. The silence that followed was filled with soundless, endless questions, endless promises, flowing out of Sylvain's open mouth like a hushed river. In the end, as the embers of the hearth began to die, he lowered his head and placed a long, soft kiss on Felix's brow.

"...Thank you."

Ingrid was surprised, to say the least. Sylvain left for two days and returned with a sword, a long-abandoned smile, a skip to his step, and an entire Felix. Ingrid was happy to see him, of course, and Felix greeted her happily, too. Sylvain thanked her for looking after the Gautier territory and manor, and the two men said goodbye to her when she headed home.

Sylvain filled up the bath, and he tested the water with his fingers. Felix neatened his belongings on the newly cleared shelf in Sylvain's bedroom, and folded and placed his clothing in the drawer freed just for him. He polished his father's sword, and he rested it against the bedpost to use it for training tomorrow morning. 

Felix saw his reflection in the sleek, sharp blade; it was warped and faint, but it was him. He stared at himself, and at the sword, and he chuckled when he heard Sylvain curse when the water got too hot. The swordsman ran his hand along the smooth floor where he knelt, the familiar, dark wood of the Gautier manor kind to his fingertips. His plan had worked after all.

Felix took Sylvain's hand with a smile when his old friend peeked in to tell him the bath was ready, and they left the bedroom door ajar, soft spring wind rustling the curtains as the sun rose over the mountains beyond.


End file.
